Who's That Girl?
by writergirljenn
Summary: One of the biggest questions haunting Sons of Anarchy fans is "WHO IS THAT HOMELESS WOMAN!" A one-shot piece I wrote as part of a writing challenge explaining my theory on who she is and what she's up to. SOA and all associated characters are the intellectual property of the brilliant Kurt Sutter. This story is my own.


I watch her as she stumbles across the front lawn, again dropping the keys she is having such a hard time holding onto. She doesn't see me. She rarely does. I wonder if it's because I've really become that inconspicuous, or if it's because she doesn't _want_ to see me.

She's crying, but that's nothing new. She reeks of booze and marijuana, but that's nothing new either. I thank God that I'm not her guardian angel, because if I was, I'd have been fired long ago. No, I am something much more visceral, more earthly than that. _I am her_.

For over two decades, I've been watching her, attempting to guide her, trying to keep her from plunging off the deep end. She's crossed paths with me before; spoken to me before. Hell, she even gave me money once. But she never _sees_ me. She's too far gone.

I step out from behind the bushes, into her path. I lean against the rusty old pickup truck that she intends to use to carry out her most heinous deed yet. I can't let her go through with it. Not this time.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I say, smiling with decaying teeth and dirt-smeared cheeks. She freezes, her eyes dark and wild.

"Outta my way, lady," she slurs. I don't budge. Her breath is hot on my face as she stares me down. I tilt my head, allowing my dirty, tangled hair to fall away from my face.

_Look at me, Gemma_, I plead silently. She doesn't. But I suppose I wouldn't recognize her either, if our situations were reversed. While my physical appearance has deteriorated over the years, her decay has been internal. She's not the woman she once was. Sometimes I wonder if she's even human anymore.

I grab her arm as she tries to pass me, my grimy fingernails digging into her tan skin. "Gemma," I warn. "Don't."

She spins around, nearly losing her balance in the process. "Do I know you?" She squints at me, her lips pursed.

"Yes," I tell her, swallowing hard. "And I know you." She shakes her head, trying to pull away from me, but I squeeze tighter.

"Who are you?" she asks. I raise my other equally filthy hand and press my palm to her face. She begins to recoil, then stops. I can see in her eyes that it's working. She is finally going to know the truth I've been carrying around with me all these years, though she will never understand it. It defies logic and comprehension.

"I am John Teller's wife," I say.

* * *

Gemma and I were once one, inhabiting the same body, sharing the same thoughts and emotions. I can still remember how it felt when Jackson would move inside our womb, although, when he looks at me now, he sees a stranger. I'm supposed to stay away from him, but sometimes I can't help myself. He will always be my baby boy, and I will always want what's best for him, even if the woman he calls 'mother' doesn't.

Our separation began the day my Thomas passed away. They say your heart breaks when someone you love dies, and that's definitely true. Not only was our heart ripped in two, but our soul and our mind as well. I felt the invisible wall go up as it rose from our grief, cutting us in half, creating two separate human beings inside of one body.

She was always stronger than me, and it wasn't long before her voice drowned mine out completely. I was a silent, unwilling participant in our affair with Clay Morrow, and the plotting of our husband's death. I was with her when the police showed up on our doorstep to inform us of John Teller's accident. My _sweet, sweet JT._ While she feigned quiet grief, I raged inside of her. I kicked, I screamed, I cried, I tried to claw my way out of that traitor body. And somehow, it worked.

The act of killing JT was the thing that broke the final tie between us. I have no idea how. All I know is that one moment I was with her, and then I wasn't. I was lying on the rocks near the river, under the bridge that cuts through town. My skin was filthy, and my clothes tattered. The air felt different in my lungs, and my heart sounded foreign in my chest. My hands were not mine, and my reflection was nearly unrecognizable. But my mind- my mind was completely, 100% my own, for the first time ever. Gemma was gone. _Or was I gone?_ I wasn't sure.

The woman who married John Teller and the woman who killed him were two entirely different people, so much so that they could not physically exist inside the same body. But who was I? _What_ was I? I still needed food and water for sustenance, but I no longer cared about things like personal hygiene or having a roof over my head. People could physically see me, but very few ever did. And I stopped aging, even though time continued to pass around me.

I'm not a ghost, I don't think, and I'm definitely no angel. I am Gemma Teller. The woman who stole my life is Gemma Morrow.

* * *

Her eyes go wide as they bore into mine, and I know she knows. She reaches one shaky hand up to my face, but doesn't touch me.

"No," she breathes. "It can't be." I nod my head, smiling slightly.

"You can't do this, Gemma," I tell her. "You can't go after Tara. Think of Jackson. Think of our boys."

"How did you-" she shakes her head. I can't read her mind, exactly, but I've been a silent observer for so long, I know what she's going to do before she does. And right now, she's like a lion with a thorn in its paw. She's hurting from her fight with Nero, foggy from the drugs and alcohol, and afraid for her son, who is about to make a sacrifice for his family that only a good man would make.

Jackson's choices as of late have been more like Clay's and less like JT's. He is not the man his father would have raised, nor a man his father would have wanted him to become. Today is the first time, in a very long time, that I've been proud of him. While there have been times in his life that he's needed Gemma's help, no matter how dangerous or unorthodox, this is not one of them.

He has this. And if he doesn't, I will do my best to guide him. I almost saved him once, in the cemetery, the morning of Donna Winston's funeral. He'd been so close to breaking free of the demons masquerading as his parents. But Gemma's hold was still stronger than mine, just like it always had been.

"You're not real," she decides, a wicked smile spreading across her face. I dig my nails deeper into her arm, feeling her sticky, wet blood under my fingers.

"Oh, but I am," I whisper, matching her smile with one of my own. White heat surges through my head, blurring my vision, and it takes me a moment to realize that I've been struck. Just as Gemma pulls back her fist to hit me again, I charge at her, burying my head in her gut. She tumbles backwards and I go with her, landing on top of her as she hits the pavement.

I suppose this is what it was always going to come down to- a physical fight to the finish. I've never had the strength to fight her before, but I do now. I've been saving it up all these years, knowing that someday I would need it, just like I needed it the day JT died. On that day, I failed. I won't fail again. I can't let her kill Tara. She thinks she's doing it to save Jax, but I know that it will destroy him instead.

Every day, I wonder how things would have turned out if I'd been able to stop her from killing JT. I will not live with that sort of regret again. She rolls on top of me, pummeling my face with her fists. I feel blood pouring out of my nose, and my lower lip begins to swell. I try to push her off me, but it's no use. She has her legs wrapped around my torso. I can't breathe. My chest is caving in beneath the weight of her, and I feel myself starting to lose consciousness. She grabs two handfuls of my hair, and slams my head against the ground. I see stars. My vision begins to blur around the edges.

There is a freeness in my lungs when she climbs off of me, and I take a deep, ragged breath. I watch helplessly as she stumbles toward Unser's truck. I feel like I am dying. But I have to stop her. I can't fail my son. I force myself to my knees and crawl after her. She is seated in the truck now, fumbling with the keys, one leg still planted on the ground. I try to call her name, but I have no voice.

The ground begins to shake below me, and I struggle to turn my head. There is a semi-truck barreling down the street, right toward us. Gemma doesn't see it; she's too busy trying to figure out which is the ignition key. I have a decision to make. But there is no decision, really. The choice is clear. Rather than seek asylum under Unser's truck, I close the gap between Gemma and me. Still on my knees, I do the only thing I can think to do, sink my teeth into her calf- hard. I taste blood, aware that this will likely be the last thing I ever taste. She screams in pain, her leg buckling as she pitches sideways, toward me. With the last bit of strength I have, I grab her arm and pull her out of the truck.

She tries to roll away from me, but I hold on. Unwittingly, she tumbles directly into the path of the truck, taking me with her. I close my eyes, knowing what's coming. The last thing I hear is her breath in my ear as she readies herself to scream, but our fate steals the sound.

* * *

I open my eyes, the light blinding. I am lying on the ground, which is as white as the sky above me, my body still intertwined with Gemma's. The first thing I notice is that there is no difference between us now. We are both young, both beautiful, both whole. The second thing I notice is the shadow coming toward me. I can't make out his features against the bright light, but I recognize the voice instantly.

"Precious," he beckons, reaching a hand out to me. I take it, pulling myself up.

"John," I whisper. My husband wraps his arms around me, pressing his lips to my forehead. If I'd known he was waiting for me all this time, I would have joined him long ago. But then I think of Jax, and I know that's not true. I never could have left our boy with those monsters.

Gemma sits up, blinking as her eyes adjust. She sees me, and then John.

Her face goes pale. "JT? Baby?" She reaches for him, but he does not respond. "JT!"

"Let's go," he says, his lips moving against my ear. I follow him as he leads me away, toward the light.

There is a loud noise, like the tearing of metal, and I turn back around. JT does not. The ground has opened up below Gemma, and she has fallen halfway into an abyss of darkness. She clutches at the white nothingness, searching for purchase.

"JT!" she begs. "Please!" He turns, his eyes weary. A figure appears behind Gemma. Clay. He snarls at JT and me, then turns to her. He stomps on one of her hands. She cries out in agony. When he lifts his foot, her hand crumples, losing its grip. She is dangling now, only four fingers keeping her from falling. "JT!" she begins sobbing. "Save me."

A deep sadness washes over his face as he shakes his head. "I tried."

With John's arm around my shoulders, I head into the light, unafraid. I don't turn around this time when I hear metal scraping metal. The silence that follows tells me all I need to know. She is gone, and so is he- to the place that demons go.

I am sad for my son, who is now parentless. But I know he will be okay. I did what I had to do to save him from the evil forces in his life, and left him on the right track, with a beautiful family to keep him grounded. I laid down my life for my son; a mother's work. It had to be done.


End file.
